


Piece of Cake

by karasunovolleygays



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Semi Eita is a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27470515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Semi Eita finds himself thoroughly charmed by his neighbor, and thoroughly confused about said neighbor's thoughts about him in return.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Tendou Satori
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72
Collections: Haikyuu Rarepair Exchange 2020





	Piece of Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keepingupwiththemalfoys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepingupwiththemalfoys/gifts).



> Have a (belated) thank you gift, a gift of thanks for contributing to the HQ Rarepair Exchange as a pinch hitter this year!

Eita’s briefcase flops down atop the kotatsu as its owner melts into the couch with a groan. He is exhausted to the core, and not even the idea of food can drag him from his seat. 

In all his years of sports and all-night cram sessions, nothing has ever drained Eita as thoroughly as a visit from upper management in the office. Instead of doing important work, most of the junior employees spend a good part of the week doing menial tasks like dusting bookshelves and cleaning keypads on telephones, just so the big bosses can stroll through the office and notice absolutely none of it.

After ten minutes of oozing into the cushions, Eita’s belly grinds its displeasure at being empty. “Yeah, yeah.” It only takes a few minutes to order something to eat and go back to his lazing, and a few after that for his overwrought brain to forget what he had picked.

Twenty minutes drone by before Eita scrapes himself upright, absently reaching for the acoustic guitar sitting on the other side of the end table. Fingers roughened by years of playing pluck at the strings, and a simple melody vibrates into the room. 

As they are wont to do, lyrics bubble into his thoughts, and his smooth tenor wraps around the words until a little scrap of a new song is born.

He nearly misses the sound of someone knocking on his door. Carefully replacing his guitar on its stand, Eita opens the door for what he assumes is his dinner. 

A tall redhead with a wide smile and a mild case of crazy eyes holds out a paper bag, stapled closed with the receipt. “Hello, Semi-kun!”

“H-hello.” Eita reaches out to accept the bag. “Thank you. I’ll make sure I do the survey email thing for you.”

Big Red laughs, a bright and vibrant thing. “I’m sure Delivery-kun would appreciate that, but alas it is not me.” At Eita’s blinks of confusion, he adds, “I’m Tendou Satori, your neighbor. Your order got left at the wrong door.”

“Oh, thank you.” Eita holds up the bag, and he notices the apartment number listed on the recept is 7, not 8. “Well, he left it at the right door. I’m just the idiot who put the wrong unit number in.” 

Satori chuckles and claps Eita on the shoulder. “Far be it beyond me to keep a dead-eyed salaryman from his meal.” Curious eyes scan the neat interior of Eita’s apartment and fall on his guitar. “So that was you playing?”

“Yes, I play a little.” Eita doesn’t mention that he spends his Friday and Saturday nights playing nightclub gigs with the band he’s been in since college. Instead, he gives Satori a weary smile and a nod. “Thank you for bringing my order to me. It’s been a long day.” 

“You’re welcome.” Satori waves over his shoulder and heads for his own door, Apartment 7. However, as Eita is about to close his own door behind him, Satori says, “You have a very nice voice, Semi-kun. I would like to hear you sing sometime.”

With that, Eita is staring at his bag wondering how he could have possibly lived next to such a buoyant creature and never talked to him before.

His dinner, a massive serving from a Mongolian barbecue place nearby, is a little dull, so Eita only eats enough to slake his hunger to give the rest a chance to soak up more flavor overnight. 

After stowing his leftovers, Eita reaches for his guitar but is interrupted by another knock at the door. Frowning, he slides open the door, and his eyes widen when he sees Satori on the other side of the threshold once again. “Did you need something, Tendou-kun?”

Satori shakes his head and holds out a plastic food storage container. “No, I thought I’d give you these. I made extra, and you look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

Eita carefully peels back the lid, and he gasps when he sees a dozen chocolates in paper liners. “You made these?”

Satori grins. “Yep, I sure did. I’m apprenticing with a professional chocolatier, so I have to try new things out. This batch came out pretty good.”

“They look delicious.” Eita picks one out of the container and holds it up for inspection. “What kind are they?”

“Caramel and pretzel.” He watches intently while Eita lifts the morsel to his lips. “Do you like them?”

A mix of sweet and salt bursts on Eita’s tongue, and he has to dial back a moan of pleasure as the chocolate sends a small bolt of life throughout his entire being. “I’ve never heard of mixing those together, but they’re delicious.”

Satori crosses his arms in triumph while Eita eats another one as quickly as politeness allows. “Well, enjoy your snack, Semi-kun. If you ever want some junk food, I’m the man to see.” 

Once again, Eita is alone, but instead of strumming his guitar until he drifts off to sleep on the couch, he savors one last chocolate before putting them away to save some for future mood enhancement. It makes him wonder why he never had sweets on hand before.

Energized, Eita opts to tidy up the apartment before getting back to his music. As he plays, he scribbles words with chords over them. When bedtime rolls around, his usual ten o’clock, Eita has a chorus and part of a verse.

The next evening is much the same, save for the surprise visit from his amicable neighbor, boosted by takeout and chocolate. It’s later than usual when he crawls into bed, but a soft sound melting through the walls keeps him wide awake. 

Eita hears someone singing, and they’re singing the song he’s been writing.

It isn’t the smoothest voice ever, but the tone is agreeable and the pitch is mostly accurate. He lies still, absorbing the jarring experience of hearing his own music from someone else. 

He can’t make out all of the words, but he mouths along with them anyway. The singing can only be coming from Satori’s apartment.

Long after the singing stops, Eita stares at the ceiling thinking about his neighbor. Tendou Satori, a candymaker, not only listens to him write songs, he commits them to memory. 

A smile lingers at that thought as he falls asleep.

The week comes and goes, with Eita’s days at work being spent itching to get home to finish the song. Barring writer’s block or a catastrophe, he’ll probably finish it that evening. 

While he finishes making a neat copy of the lyrics, a thought trumpets in his head. “Oh!” 

Eita rifles through the end table until he turns up a laminated badge on a cheap lanyard, allowing free entry to the gig his band will be playing the next evening. 

This time, he’s the one knocking on Satori’s door. When his neighbor catches sight of Eita, he beams. “Hello again, Semi-kun. Come right in!”

Satori herds Eita into the apartment, who stares at the surroundings in surprise. Every spare scrap of wall is coated in some sort of poster or print from a range of shounen animanga series. The only area devoid of colorful paraphernalia is the kitchen, which is filled with hooks and shelves housing all manner of strange gadgets — most of which Eita doesn’t know what they’re called or what they do.

“You really like your merch, don’t you?” Eita murmurs, still gawking at a shelving unit filled top to bottom with a combination of manga and DVDs, and in front rows of poseable figurines interacting with one another.

Seeing Eita’s train of thought, Satori wanders over to the bookcase and picks one of them up. “He’s my favorite.” He presents a dark-haired chibi figure with a grumpy face. “He’s so cranky on the outside, but he has a creamy caramel center.” Satori replaces the figure and gestures toward the couch. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

A denial spawns and dies on Eita’s tongue. Why would he say no? Satori is a little weird but seems good natured, unlikely to chop him up and stash his corpse in the freezer. Psychopaths only lure people with candy in horror movies, anyway. 

“Sure, I would love to.” He follows Satori into the kitchen to see what’s cooking. The scent of browning chicken wafts up from a simmering skillet.“Do you need any help?”

Satori holds out the handle of a wooden spoon. “Need? No. Delighted? Definitely.”

Eita minds the skillet while Satori hums under his breath. He can’t help but watch Satori’s deft hands wield a frosting spatula and render the sides of a layer cake smooth as silk. After that, neat tufts of icing come out of a piping bag, adorning the top and bottom edges of the cake.

“So this is what you do for a living?” Eita eyes the cake, almost hoping it’s not part of dinner because it’s almost too pretty to eat. “It’s beautiful.”

“Opinion.” Satori takes Eita’s hand and dabs a dollop of frosting on his fingertip. “Is this too minty?”

Dutifully tasting the frosting, Eita gasps when the flavor hits his palate. “This is amazing.” He licks the remnants from his finger and groans. “I don’t even like mint much and I’d eat a bucket of this.”

Without another word, Satori goes back to decorating the cake, and Eita finishes up their meal.

Sitting side by side at the kotatsu, Eita drifts back into a seemingly faraway time, back in high school when he had lived in dorms with other boys his age. Since college ended, he has lived on his own. Here with Satori, it reminds him strongly of those times. The food is good, and so is the company.

“Save room for dessert, Semi-kun.” Satori takes his own empty dish back to the kitchen and returns soon with a plate bearing a generous slice of the freshly decorated cake. Beaming, he says, “Enjoy!”

Eita’s full stomach forgets his waning appetite when he sees the rich velvety chocolate cake. “It looks incredible.” He notes the lack of a plate in front of Satori. “Aren’t you going to have some?”

“Nah, I was just trying out a new type of buttercream. Since I don’t really eat much, it’s nice to have a crash test dummy.” 

The comment coaxes a chuckle from Eita. “If it’s as good as the frosting, I’ll taste test anything you come up with.” 

Satori grins. “Delightful.” 

With that, Eita sets into his slice of cake and groans as the rich, smooth flavors hit his palate. He has never been one to indulge in sweets much, but knowing a master confectioner lives a stone’s throw from him might change that. 

Bloated and regretting none of it, Eita drapes back against the couch and stares at the ceiling. “And to think I was going to have instant noodles for dinner.”

“You can’t live on noodles, ya dork.” Satori elbows him, but the motion stirs Eita’s full stomach. “Stop by anytime. The more I get into the business, the more I realize I really like feeding people — especially my adorable neighbor guy.”

Eita ducks his head at the diminutive. “I haven’t been called adorable since i was a toddler.”

Satori winks. “Then you need to hang out with people with better taste.” With a toothy smile, he pats Eita’s cheek. “You are definitely adorable, and I happen to know I have excellent taste.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

They bid each other goodnight, with Eita sent on his way with a container full of leftovers and an entire cake plate. “If I ate everything I made, I’d stop fitting through the door, silly.” 

As he sets down the cake plate on his identical and far more sparse kitchen counter, Eita guffaws under his breath. Not only does he have a tasty reminder of his odd but sweet neighbor — he has a reason to see him again to return it.

The last slip of eyeliner finally set, Eita inspects the wings to make sure they’re symmetrical. It’s a familiar practice, but one he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. 

After that, he raises his arms to make sure a sliver of his belly shows beneath his artfully tattered novelty tee when he does. For some reason, it sells more tickets to their gigs. That, and the leather pants he has to pour himself into every night he performs. He doesn’t button them up until he has to so he can sit down on the bus.

His eyes drift over to the now empty and washed cake plate on the counter and frowns. Eita sucks in a breath to button his pants, but when the fastening is about half a centimeter short, the unforgiving fabric doesn’t budge that extra distance. “Damn you and your perfect cake.” 

However, it’s almost a relief when he sheds leather for well worn jeans with enough give to hide the evidence of the entire cake he had eaten in the past few days.

Finally ready, Eita grabs his guitar case and exits his apartment to meet the rest of the band downtown. Just after the door closes behind him, he almost runs into a tall lanky wall that smells like candy. “Oh, sorry!”

A pajama-clad Satori, arms full of a heaping laundry basket, chuckles. “I was hoping I’d bump into you again, soon, Semi-kun.” His eyes narrow as he peruses Eita’s face. “That’s some killer liner. You look ready for one heck of a night out.”

Eita shrugs, averting his gaze so Satori doesn’t see him flush. “We have a gig tonight. Apparently me dressing like this sells tickets.”

“Hell yeah it does.” Satori grins. “That’s an interesting outfit you have on. The only thing you’re missing is leather pants.”

Swallowing a cough of surprise, Eita feigned clearing his throat. “I don’t think it fits me at the moment.”

Satori raises a brow, but his attention drifts down to the guitar case in Eita’s hand. “So where are you playing?”

“The Red Room downtown.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

Eita nearly drops his case. “Oh! Uh, you mean you want to go?” His voice is even as he asks, though he has no idea how. “Are you sure? We’re not exactly a pop band.”

Satori leans against the hallway wall and winks. “Rock, metal, ska, punk . . .”

“Mostly punk.” 

“Delightful.” With that, Satori saunters back to his own door, humming as he disappears into the apartment. 

More nervous than he has been for a concert in a long time, Eita spends most of the bus ride wondering if Satori will like his music. While half of their songs are covers, even those are redone to the point of being unique as the songs Eita writes. His music is a part of him, one he has not shared with many — even his good friends in high school. A place like Shiratorizawa doesn’t exactly cater to people who want to pursue the arts as a career.

Setup and soundcheck pass by business as usual, but the knot of anticipation in Eita’s stomach is different as he listens to the clamor of the crowd filtering into the arena. He’s done dozens of concerts in venues similar to this one. 

The only difference between this one and the last is the idea that Satori might be there, observing Eita in his element. Semi Eita, Miyagi Prefecture Junior Tax Clerk, is only a sliver of who he is. His truest self wears eyeliner, plays guitar shreds, and sings about rebellion in small local event halls.

His group waits for their stage cue, and his unusual demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed. “Semi, you look nervous,” notes their drummer. “You all right?”

“Of course,” Eita chirps, his voice squeaking like a puberty stricken teenager. “Just hoping to see someone in the audience.”

“Ooh, is it a _girl_?” the bass player crows. “‘Bout time you started doing something other than work and practice.”

Eita doesn’t correct him. While he doesn’t care if his bandmates know about his romantic endeavors, he isn’t sure what to call this nervous little connection he has been forging with Satori. They’re not dating, he knows that, but Eita can’t say for sure if it’s something he does or does not want.

What he does want, though, is to look out over a normally faceless crowd while on stage and see a bright red buzz cut resting atop the tallest person in the room.

The group takes the stage to noisy applause, and Eita slips his guitar strap over his shoulder. His eyes scan the crowd, and he can’t fight off a grin when he sees that head of red hair at the bar in the back, fingers curled around a wine glass while he looks directly at Eita.

 _He actually came,_ a quavering part of Eita’s brain says on repeat. His hand blindly swipes for the pick woven into the strings on the neck. The motion elicits a discordant cacophony, which he quickly subdues by slapping his other hand over the pickups.

Closing his eyes, Eita phases out everything else and steps up to the mic. Despite the clamor filling the room, everything goes quiet as the drummer clicks off their opening song.

The nerves settle and the fog clears, and their set completes in their usual style: the drummer drinking a whole bottle of water after each song, the bassist grinding his teeth through every note, and Eita’s clothes dampened with sweat. 

Backstage, they pack their equipment and load it into the drummer’s van, and Eita’s other bandmates take off. 

At this point, Eita usually does, as well, but curiosity and something else he doesn’t care to name coaxes him back into the bar area. He isn’t disappointed when he notices Satori still lingering in the area, this time lighting up the nearby pinball machine with his eyes alight with glee.

Eita hovers a few steps back, watching the gleaming ball bounce around, the sensors churning out an exuberant tattoo with every touch. When the ball finally dribbles down between the flippers, Eita approaches with a soft, “Hey, stranger.”

Satori chuckles. “I was hoping you’d come find me.”

“Oh?” Eita puts down his guitar case and leans against the side of the machine, arms crossed. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to give a frank review for your hardworking local music scene.”

“Certainly!” Eyes dragging up and down Eita’s form, his gaze finally settles on Eita’s chest. “The bones are good. The window dressing is terrible.”

Eita winces. “So, basically we suck but we’d be great if we worked harder?”

Shaking his head, Satori snorts. “No, no, your band is great! You just need a makeover, Semi-kun. Your clothes look like they lost a fight with a blender.”

With a sigh of relief, Eita slumps back against the nearby wall, immediately regretting it when his bare arms touch something sticky and unidentifiable. “Well, I can’t deny that. I just wear what the other guys tell me to wear because girls like it, I guess.”

“What about what you like, Semi-kun?”

“I —” Eita gives a wan smile. “Honestly, I live in black when I’m not at work. I love useless zippers and buttons and grommets, the whole goth shebang.”

“Wow, that’s actually worse.” Satori sidles closer, looming close to Eita while his tongue darts over his lower lip. “I can work with that, though. You might even look cute in trip pants.”

Eita’s breath catches in his chest. Satori is so, so close, and their lips are one brief motion away from touching. _God_ he wants them to touch.

“Semi-kun?” Satori murmurs.

“Yeah?”

Satori’s mouth snares Eita’s in a brief kiss, and he grins as he pulls away. “When you bring me my plate back, make sure you put something yummy on it, okay?”

“Right,” Eita croaks, his body glued in place while his brain churns at lightning speed along with his stomach. “I will.” 

“Excellent.” Satori winks and picks up Eita’s guitar case. “I hope you won’t make me go home all by myself.”

Eita links his arm with Satori’s free one and smiles even though his face is flaming. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of them stroll in no particular hurry to the bus stop, and the ride home has never been so nice. 

At Satori’s door, Eita leans his case against the wall and threads Satori’s strong, slender fingers with his own. “So, uh, I don’t suppose I could take you out for lunch tomorrow, could I?”

Satori’s lips purse and he hums. “Let me think about it.”

Eita reels at the reply. Is he assuming too much? Is there something there between them, or is it just a friendly neighbor whom he happened to kiss in a dark corner of a dingy bar?

His hands slip back to his sides, and he takes a step back. “Oh, uh, sure. No problem.” It takes three tries before his hand closes successfully around the handle of his guitar case. “Just let me know then.”

His door nearly closes behind him when he hears Satori’s voice. “Oh, Eita-kun?”

The sound of his name halts Eita immediately. He pushes his guitar case inside and turns around. “Hmm?”

Satori approaches, and Eita’s breath punches out of his chest arms hook around his waist and roughly haul them together. . Their mouths lingering close once again, Eita can’t hear anything but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, can’t see anything but the soft pink swell of Satori’s lips, can’t think of anything else but closing that scant distance.

“You’re way too serious.” Satori leans in and Eita prepares for a kiss, but his eyes fly open in surprise when Satori licks the tip of his nose and chuckles. “If you promise to lighten up, I’ll see you at noon.” With that, Satori disappears into his own apartment, leaving a gawking Eita in his wake.

“Okay,” Eita croaks, half an octave higher than he intends, and to an audience of none. “Lighten up. Yeah. Great. Can do.” 

Inside, Eita can’t stop smiling while he skips ordering out in favor of cooking himself. He doesn’t do it often, but he has a date to impress, a plate to return, and a promise to keep.

At 11:57 the next morning, Eita holds the wrapped platter laden with cheese onigiri in one hand and knocks with the other. This time, Eita had decided to wear whatever the hell he wanted, and when Satori opens the door to him and his layers of black trimmed with useless stainless steel baubles, he smiles wide.

“I hope you like cheese.” Eita holds out the plate. “I’m not much of a cook, but I always did okay with these.”

Satori accepts the plate with a grin. “When I said something yummy, I meant you, but these look delicious.” He pecks a kiss on Eita’s cheek before he stows the rice balls in his refrigerator. “But now, we go out and I get to see how much you’ve loosened up now that you get to wear your emo clothes.”

With that, Satori’s hand slips into Eita’s, and the two of them meander out into the throngs of pedestrians, in no hurry to get anywhere so long as they get there together.


End file.
